Valiant
by DareToDreamBig
Summary: 16 year old Tris Prior is thrown into the world of the Hunger Games. / "These rebellious thoughts remain swimming in my head, and multiply with each day I spend in the Capitol. It's a good thing no one can read minds, at least from what I've heard, because if they could, I'd certainly be dead now." / Divergent Characters in the place of the Hunger Games
1. Chapter 1

_Valiant _

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**Chapter 1: **

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**I didn't put this in the crossover section, because, I will admit, the section isn't visited as often. All rights still go to Veronica Roth and Suzanne Collins, undoubtedly. I have adjusted characters accordingly, and my apologies if some are in different places than their personalities suggest. **

**Beatrice/Tris- Katniss **

**Tobias/Four- Cato (District 2 Male)**

**Al- Peeta**

**Will- Gale **

**These are "main characters", or ones that play an important role in this story. Not to say others aren't, but the ones above are mentioned most. More characters will be introduced later, and it'll be pretty obvious who is who. **

* * *

_Tris_

I wake up to Caleb shifting around in the covers, as I do every morning. He's mumbling something about getting reaped, causing me to shake my head lightly.

Kissing his and my mother's right cheek, I quickly change out of my nightclothes, and into simple gray clothing. That's how Abnegation goes, simple and without drawing unnecessary attention.

I race down the stairs, creaky as ever. They seem as if they'll collapse any moment now, and I pray that they'll hold on long enough for me to fix them.

Overall, our house looks like it'll collapse anytime. Along with being in factions, they separate us by District, one through twelve. I live in Twelve, which along with Eleven are included in Abnegation.

It's weird how the system works, because the factions symbolize personality. One, Two, and Four are Dauntless, the brave. Three, Five, and Six are Erudite, the highly intelligent. Seven and Eight are Candor, the honest. Nine and Ten are Amity, the kind.

Abnegation people are considered to be selfless, which is pretty self-explanatory, since we're also the poorest.

Buttercup, the disgusting creature who Caleb insisted on keeping, hisses at me. I roll my eyes, and slip on my hunting jacket, which used to belong to my father, before he was killed in the mine explosion. I try not to think about that, but it's not always the easiest thing to do.

The Seam looks the same as it always is, I note, when I step outside. There's tension and a bit of despair in the air, all because of what today is.

The Reaping.

If your name is drawn in District Twelve, you're already dead. Might as well accept it, and move on. Along with poverty comes starvation, and we're basically just skin and bones. Most people don't complain about it, saying its better us than anyone else. A part of me agrees with that, but I'll always wonder why the Capitol doesn't do anything to stop it. I'm not supposed to have these thoughts about the government, so I brush them away.

The Dauntless have the highest chances of winning The Hunger Games. The objective of these games is for one lone victor to exit the Arena, out of the twenty-four tributes that entered. One male and one female are sent from each district, decided by the Reaping, into the Capitol, where you train for a few days.

The Games are televised for everyone in Panem to watch, but the Capitol citizens get the most excited about it. They have parties and various other celebrations, while also interviewing the tributes and hosting a District parade, where Capitol stylists dress up each pair of tributes to represent their district.

Will, my best friend and hunting partner, has quite a lot of hostility towards the Capitol. He's always talking about how he hates President Marcus Eaton, and the Capitol, in general. I continue scolding him, since it's really selfish to complain about someone who you haven't met, and no one should hate anyone. It's a trait we share with the Amity. The Amity and Abnegation are caring towards each other, more than the other factions.

* * *

I hate this part of the day, where I have to hunt. I don't like it, shooting animals with my bow and arrows, having blood all over my hands as I skin them. It, however, is what keeps me and the rest of the Seam from starving. I even occasionally head over to the merchants and give them some of my findings. In turn, they'll give me items I can't find at the Hob, the black market.

Once I'm within the premises of the woods, I see a deer.

I load my bow, holding the arrow so tightly that my knuckles turn white, and I beg myself silently to not gasp, to ignore the reluctance.

Right as I'm about to shoot, I hear a shout.

"What are you going to do with that after you kill it?"

Frantically, I try to shoot, but the deer trots away before the arrow can come in contact. Will comes up behind me, with that blithe walk of his.

"Seriously, Will? That's first deer I've seen all season." I look at him in exasperation, and he shrugs.

"You'll see more, eventually." He reassures me, though I'm not feeling relief.

My irritation dies out in a few seconds, as I get ready to shoot the bird.

"Ready?"

"One, two, go."

I shoot, and thankfully, with accuracy.

I whisper my apologies, and Will shakes his head at me.

"Always so selfless, Tris." He mockingly says, grinning.

Tris is the name he gave me when we first met. I said Beatrice under my breath, so quickly that he only heard the last part. The name stuck, but to everyone else, I'm Beatrice. I actually prefer Tris, since Beatrice sounds a bit uptight, but it is an Abnegation name. Nicknames are seen as a bother here, and who am I to defy the rules?

"Well, that's what our faction implies." I tell him, and he rolls his eyes. Personally, I think Will is more Dauntless or Candor to me, but the topic of being two different factions is forbidden. The Divergent are considered anomalies in Panem, and once discovered, are brought to the Capitol. I suppose they're executed, but the Capitol doesn't bother to say.

They don't have to, anyway.

* * *

"How many times is your name in the bowl?" I ask quietly.

"Forty-two."

When he sees my pained expression, he adds, "I guess the odds aren't really in my favor."

No, they aren't. They aren't in mine either, since I have around twenty or so. I'd rather it is me than Caleb, but he still insists on inserting his, as he is older by a few months. Also, he doesn't want to be seen as selfish. I'm very thankful for this, though, because if he didn't, I would have about as many as Will, maybe even more. And to think we only get a small portion of grain and oil to last the year.

I try to give him a smile, but it probably comes off as a grimace. I mentally scold myself, because that's surely a way to make him feel even more anxious.

He offers me his hand, and together, we walk back into the safety that is District Twelve, game bags in tow.

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**Sorry that this chapter is, well, boring, and seemingly useless, but it is actually quite relevant to the story. I'm new to the Divergent fandom, so I'm sorry if Tris is out of character. I have to keep telling myself "brave, selfless, and curious."**

**And I'll be cursed if I said it isn't complicated. **

**Please review, favorite, follow, and all of that fun stuff. It's nice to receive feedback. **

**-DareToDreamBig **


	2. Chapter 2

_The Hunger Games_

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**Chapter 2**

**Disclaimer: All credits go to Veronica Roth and Suzanne Collins, except for the actual story. **

* * *

_Tris_

I try not to think about what could happen in an hour.

It's not the easiest thing to do, but I manage. I try to think of optimistic things, like the pin I traded for at the Hob. I plan to give it to Caleb, for good luck.

"You nervous, Tris?" My mother asks me, as she cuts the ends off my hair.

"No."

She looks at me, perplexed at the disagreement.

"I'm terrified." I clarify, and she nods, kisses the top of my head, and reveals the mirror.

Usually, in Abnegation, you don't look in mirrors, as that is considered to be selfish, caring about appearances.

However, on Reaping Day, you are expected to dress your best. Not that we look the best in Capitol standards, since our clothes are dull and, well, ugly.

We don't complain, because why whine about something you can't fix?

After eating a quick meal of stale bread and oatmeal, a luxury I was able to snag, we head to the Town Square. I know the drill, let the administrators draw blood, and head to the roped off area for my statistics- 16 year old females. Caleb and I split off, so we can go through the routine. Right before he turns, he gives me a pat on the back and ruffles my hair. Then, he's off.

Taking a deep breath, I shakily extend my finger. The sharp jab forces me to straighten up, to restrain the trembles of my body. I've never gotten past the anxiety of the Reaping, no one in my district can.

Unlike the Dauntless, we don't treat the Hunger Games as an exciting festivity, to prove our unconstrained bravery. I have always wondered what causes their brains to drive so dangerously.

I stand next to Susan, one of my only friends, otherwise known as the Mayor's daughter. She, unlike some people would, doesn't brag about her wealth. Instead, she blends in with the rest of us. It is considered impolite to gloat, anyway.

I catch Will's eye, and he gives me what's supposed to be a supportive smile. I, however, for the second time that day, don't receive the intended emotion.

We all wait silently for the escort to show up. That she does, with a deafening tap on the microphone. After numerous failed attempts to pay attention, I let my mind drift off. Many things run through my mind at times, but the dominant question is, "Why do we still have to suffer for our ancestors' faults?"

I suppose the Capitol isn't immune to the whole forgiving ritual.

In a way, I find holding grudges being inconvenient.

My focus is drawn back to the stage, right as the video ends.

Our escort is as abnormal as always, with an orange curly wig and a poufy, sunshine-yellow dress. She looks as if she's made to be an Amity escort, but no Capitol citizen would even think about wearing Abnegation's signature gray.

"Well, time to choose our lucky tributes!" She chirps.

No one shares that same sentiment.

"As always, ladies first."

I hear every girl suck in their breath, including my own, and it won't be exhaled until we hear it isn't ours. One unfortunate girl will have to walk to their death statement.

_Please, _I beg, _don't let it be me. _

_Please, pick someone else. _

She, whose name I didn't bother to catch, trots other to the bowl. Inside are more than twenty slips with the name _Beatrice Prior _on them. Her hand movements are over-dramatized, and unnecessary.

_Don't let her pull out my name, _I think. But it is more of a plea.

* * *

I guess my selfishness has some kind of effect on the outcome, because my worst fear comes true.

"Beatrice Prior."

That's when my air control stops.

My name, out of the thousands in that bowl, is chosen. _Thousands. _

Without much choice, I gulp, and take slow, steady steps towards the stage. I feel my legs threatening to collapse under my weight, under the pressure of the stares. I feel the sympathetic glances thrown at my back. I feel the cameras, broadcasting the scene to the Capitol, following my movements. At that, I hastily trek to the stairs, and push myself up each step with what I hope is gained confidence.

The lady claps, and encourages everyone else to do so, but they remain silent.

I guess to serve as respect for my "sacrifice".

Even though I'm not exactly willing to sacrifice my life for the Capitol's entertainment, this is as close to an apology as I'll get.

"Now, for the boys," she reaches over to the other bowl, "Albert Madsen!"

I can faintly recall Al. He's this big, clumsy guy who always seemed to be joking around in school, exchanging smiles, but I'm pretty sure there won't be any smiles today.

The look on his face, filled with fear and shock, causes a pang in my chest. Regardless of his huge stature, Albert looks as if he's unable to kill a fly.

It requires much chippering to force him to begin the lifetime of a walk upstairs. I can't blame him, but can't he at least prevent the tears from spilling out of his eyes?

Sure, I'm in no way brave. I know that if I do manage to survive past the first part of the Arena, I won't do anything, except stay hidden. That's kind of the unspoken plan.

"Let's have a round of applause for our Tributes, from District Twelve."

Her clap is the only one, ringing throughout the room. I see Mayor Black trying to remove the somber frown from his face. He must recognize me, his daughter's best friend. We may have never spoken, but the brief encounters don't prevent him from feeling grief.

Every person in the roped off area kisses three fingers and holds them up, in honor of us.

Our escort does nothing but usher us inside the Justice Hall, where we're allowed to have visitors.

* * *

I know my mother and Caleb will come, and possibly Susan. Maybe Robert, Susan's brother and Caleb's friend. Will, undeniably, is going to burst into the room, a determined look on his face, demanding that I put myself together and win this. He knows me well enough to expect crying, which only happens on the occasion.

That's exactly what happens. He comes even before my immediate family does.

They were probably too shocked to move quickly enough.

"You can win this, you know. Get a hold of a bow, or at least a knife, and make snares."

I nod, but I knew immediately, when I heard my name, that I'd die. It's almost inevitable, death that is, and I have nowhere to hide from it.

"Tris, you have a better chance than any of the lower districts. Just steer clear of the Dauntless, okay?" He rushes to complete his sentence, since we only have three minutes to talk.

Will then encases me into his arms, holding me tight. As soon as they let him in, they take him out, and I'm not able to hear the last words he wanted me to know.

In the matter of seconds later, Caleb barges in, followed by my mother. They have pained expressions plastered across their faces, and I wish my soothing words were enough to comfort them.

There's a lot of crying, from my mother, and hugs from my brother.

I return each hug, and kiss my mother's cheek.

Caleb slips a pin, an Abnegation pin into my hands. It's the one that I gave him earlier.

The last "I love you" is said, and they are gone.

I'm lead out to a car. I assume Susan couldn't come, or didn't want to. I never knew much about her, but a friend is a friend.

I sit on the left side of our escort. She introduces herself as Artesia, and is, surprisingly, not as obnoxious as I expected her to be. She's still chatty, but tolerable.

It barely takes five minutes to get to the train, and from there, we're off to the Capitol.

* * *

District Twelve's only surviving victor, out of our two, is a twenty-two year old drunk, who won his Games six years ago, named Eric. He looks more like a Capitol citizen than an Abnegation citizen to me, because in my faction, piercings and long hair for men are unheard of.

He also supports some kind of tattoo that I can never identify.

"Well, well, well, who do we have here?" He sputters, staggering in the dining cart.

I bristle, as I have never encountered a drunk before. I avoid all of the intoxicated Peacekeepers that hang around the Hob. My mother always told me to take a different path, because people do reckless things when they've had too much alcohol.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing?" He says to me, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. Call me biased, but I'm already freaked out. He looks at Albert, who told me to identify him as Al, and smirks.

"Looks like I have two interesting tributes this year. Maybe one of you will live past the Bloodbath," Eric remarks, and pours a strange substance in his glass. I turn away, to look out the window. It's hard to believe that just this morning, I was hunting peacefully with Will. Now, I'm being shipped off to a game of death, and I can't say that's particularly serene.

Al and I make quiet chatter. He tells me about his friends, and I talk about my family. Sure, it'll make us feel even more homesick, but it's better than endless silence. I find silence quite deafening, despite my hunter's instinct. I always see myself more as a talker than a listener, weirdly enough.

"Do you think it's as amazing as they say?" Al asks, referring to the Capitol. I simply shrug.

"If it is, that's the only part of this I'm looking forward to." I reply.

Honestly speaking, my growing curiosity about what's out there, besides District Twelve, is overwhelming. I suppose it'll be somewhat fulfilled, but not exactly in the best conditions.

Needless to say, I want to see what the Capitol looks like. Artesia talks about it like Heaven is described in the Bible, but I doubt it's that grand.

"I can't argue with that," he says, smiling at me. I grin back, and we continue on.

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

* * *

**Oh, Tris, nothing is ever normal when involving Tobias Eaton. But I'll say, she certainly has much to look forward to!**

**I'm sorry if this isn't "Tris" enough for you. It's impossible, however, to write her point of view like Veronica Roth. **

**Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I was honestly shocked when I opened my mailbox this morning. **

**-DareToDreamBig**


	3. Chapter 3

_Valiant_

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**Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer: All credits go to Veronica Roth and Suzanne Collins, except for the actual story.**

* * *

_Tris_

Eric advises Al and me to watch the other districts' reapings. He emphasizes on watching the Dauntless, as they are, usually, the biggest competition in the Arena.

I pay attention half-heartedly.

The names I catch are Molly and Peter, from District 1. Lauren from District 2.

Then, my heart stops. Maybe not literally, but as close as it'll get.

The most muscular boy I think I've ever seen, including all of the tributes over the past sixteen years I've been alive, pushes past all of the others and volunteers. On top of the bulk, he is, well, handsome. He introduces himself as Four, Four Johnson. Even Al is shorter and smaller than him. I find it weird he has a number as a name, and so does Al.

All of the tributes remaining escape my mind, except for the twelve year old girl from District 11, Myra, and her fellow male tribute, Edward. He's the only tribute that _might _be able to hold up to Four in a fight.

Eric makes some kind of grunting noise, and we give him our full attention.

"You two don't stand a chance," he says, and smirks. I scowl, and Al tenses beside me. I know we aren't the strongest tributes, not by a long shot, but can he at least try to act encouraging?

He sees our displeasure, and throws his hands up in defense. "What, why give you false hope just for you to die in the first couple of minutes in the Arena?"

That doesn't make anything better.

We're instructed to act cheerful and excited to see the Capitol, to run to the window and wave at them. I decide to give it a shot, except I'm almost positive I look like I'm grimacing instead of smiling.

Oh well.

Artesia babbles about how we're going to meet our stylists, and prep team. Apparently, they can make us "almost as beautiful as her."

At that comment, I visibly cringe. I really don't want to look like whatever she's trying to replicate.

Sunshine, perhaps?

Al sees my face, and pats me on the back. I'm glad I have someone I can relate to with me.

* * *

Several hours of plucking, cutting, and scrubbing come my way.

Unlike Artesia said, I'm not that impressed by the Capitol. Sure, it's big, and modern, but the tall buildings and endless streets are intimidating.

So is my prep team, who are even odder than my escort. Now, I am dreading to see my stylist. And, quite honestly, I don't want some stranger seeing me naked.

Without my bodily hair, I feel even more exposed. Not to mention cold, as I can feel every draft of air, light or heavy.

"Your stylist, Tori, will be here soon," one of the ladies say, as they place me on some kind of flat bed. Maybe it's a table.

* * *

"Are you afraid of fire?" Is the first thing Tori says to me when she walks in. I'm getting shocked a lot here lately, but I think she may be the most surprising. Her hair is black, with gray streaks. Some bird with red eyes is tattooed on the back of her neck, and a river is inked onto her arm. Her eyes are dark, and save for a few piercings, she looks normal.

I must've shown fear on my expression, because she smiles, almost maniacally.

"It isn't real fire, of course. We can't have you two roasted on live television. It's a synthetic flame, and we're going to place it on the cape you'll be wearing." Despite the explanation, I'm still afraid. Also, I'm starting to wonder if she's right in the head or not.

She pulls out a one piece suit. It's all black, and when I touch it, the material feels like leather.

True to her word, it has a cape attached to the back of it. I can only hope the cape will fan out, and not come in contact with my skin.

She begins to dress me, and put something on my face called "makeup." It feels powdery and heavy, and I try to keep my distaste to myself. At least Tori isn't sending me out naked with only coal dust covering my skin. That happened one year, and everyone in District Twelve turned away, too embarrassed to watch.

I wonder if Al is being coated in makeup like I am.

* * *

As the parade is about to begin, Tori tells us, once again, that the fire isn't going to burn us. I flinch away, but she grabs my cape and touches the match to it.

To my bewilderment, I only feel a faint tickle on the back of my neck. The fire isn't even hot, and only spreads onto the cape. Al helps me up onto the chariot, as they call it.

The tip of my head barely reaches past his shoulders, and I'm wearing heels.

I hear Jack Kang, the interviewer and commentator, announce us as the 74th Hunger Games' Tributes.

Our chariot jerks forward, and I almost fly out. I'm thankful for Al, who grabs my arm to steady me.

A burst of cheers startles me, and I hear a name being called out. _Four. _

We're just taken out of the cave-like entrance when a hush falls over the crowd. After murmuring for a few seconds, they begin yelling again. I hear my name being yelled out, as Tris. I scarcely contain my glower. Who gave them the right to steal Will's nickname for me?

I hear faint calls for Al. Most people are shouting for me or Four.

Al grabs my hand again, and holds it up. I catch a red rose in my hand, and blow a kiss in the general direction of the giver.

I'm not much of an attention seeker, but this feels nice. I wouldn't want it to be constant, though. This is good, their eyes on us, because we need sponsors, as Eric told us.

President Eaton begins his speech, and I tune him out, like I did Artesia.

Our chariots turn around, and bring us back in behind the entrance.

* * *

"That was amazing!" Tori exclaims, walking to Al and I.

"So brave," Eric comments, and I grin. That's the first compliment he's given since the time I met him. Unless you consider him telling us we might survive the bloodbath praise.

Al says something I couldn't quite hear, and Eric starts to reply, until he catches sight of something behind me. As I turn to see, I find that "it" is a someone rather than a something.

Four stares at us, towering above Lauren and their group. He gives Al an onceover, and then looks at me. He takes his time analyzing me, smirks slightly, and turns around.

Eric pulls us away, into the elevator.

I glance back at Four, who returns the look, and walk behind Al.

* * *

The "penthouse" is the biggest floor of all. I suppose the Capitol might have a bit sympathy that we're the poorest district, and decides to give us a bigger space than everyone else. I don't have much appreciation for the assumed gesture, because a nicer area doesn't make up for a lack of food, and I don't like fancy things, anyway. I never really saw the purpose of decorations and dramatic colors.

Artesia leads me to my room, and kisses me on both cheeks.

"You did wonderful today, darling!" And before I can say thanks, she turns, amazingly, in her six inch heels and struts back to the dining room.

I open the door, to reveal a similarly decorated bedroom. The bed is huge, enough to fit about five of me, and maybe more.

The comforter looks soft, and I run my fingertips over the material, receiving the entire confirmation I need.

There's a sleek-looking device placed on the table beside the bed. I pick it up, and touch the screen. The scene displayed on what I thought was a window changes from a bunch of skyscrapers to the view of Capitol citizens, chatting as they stroll on the sidewalks.

I touch the screen again, and a large, barren land with only a few trees is shown. It looks unfamiliar, but I can identify the orange ground as sand.

The next slide causes my breath to get stuck in my throat. A forest, so familiar to home, is shown.

It's amazing, and I walk to the screen, almost to check if it's real. I know, though, in the back of my mind that it isn't.

Quickly changing the settings back to the way it was, I drop the remote on my bed, and walk to the dining area.

* * *

**Who's excited for Tobias? I am. **

**I also can't wait for some Fourtris action, but unfortunately, we'll have to wait. It's not like they're going to start making out right away. I mean, they have bigger things to worry about, like death. **

**Thanks for the positive feedback! Oh, and reading it. **

**-DareToDreamBig**


	4. Chapter 4

_Valiant_

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**Chapter 4**

**Disclaimer: All credits go to Veronica Roth and Suzanne Collins, except for the actual story.**

* * *

_Tris _

The training room is huge, with high ceilings and plenty of space to prepare.

Too bad all of this training isn't going to be any good. Maybe it's a bad way to look it, but it's nothing I can change. Sure, I want to survive, but I'm the same height as Myra, and not much heavier from the looks of it.

I guess the odds aren't in my favor.

The trainer is some guy named Amar, and he's explaining how the training works.

"In two weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead." _Ouch. _

"One of you will be alive." _Oh really, you didn't say?  
_

"No fighting with the other tributes, you'll have plenty of time for that in the arena." _Man, I was looking forward to it. I'm glad you think my death is amusing. _

Eventually, I got bored with my little game, so I start to evaluate the other tributes. I look all over the semi-circle, until my eyes land on Four. He's standing next to Lauren, who's grinning and keeps throwing longing glances at the knives station.

Unfortunately, to my growing luck, he catches my eye, and raises an eyebrow. I blush scarlet, and scowl, turning my attention back to Amar.

* * *

The plants station I'm residing at is easy. I don't know if these plants will be in the arena, but if they are, I'll have a good supply of food.

I've now identified Nightlock as a poisonous berry. Actually, I never heard about Nighlock until today. I mentally tell myself to steer clear of Nightlock, if I even make it long enough to find food.

I would be having a visit at the archery station if Eric hadn't forced us to promise that we don't show our strengths in front of the other tributes. Now that I think about it, it's good that they don't know my skills. Too bad that it makes me look weak, like an average District Twelve girl. I hate feeling powerless.

Most of my time is also spent observing everyone, and while it may seem stalkerish, I've gained a lot of information. I was curious to know the Dauntless' talents.

To my surprise, Molly isn't the most promising at weapons. However, she has a mean punch, and could rip me in half. Peter, on the other hand, has a knack for spears. He can easily throw one from the farthest spot in the area, and it'll land on the bulls-eye. I'm glad to have my fair share of skills in a long range weapon. Lauren is deadly accurate with knives. Though my attention keeps drifting to Four.

He does it all. He's as skilled with knives as Lauren is, but he seemingly prefers the sword.

Overall, he isn't too shabby with the spears, except I would say Peter is better. And currently, one of the boxing trainers is holding his nose, trying to contain the blood from flowing everywhere, ultimately failing.

Four's easily the biggest competitor in the game. There is not much doubt that he'll win.

I sigh, and wish the plant trainer a good day. He grins at me, glad he had a good student.

It's on to the knot station, now. This is what I really need to work on. Will always teased me about my snares, and I never cared much about them, until now. Since there's a good chance I can't get a bow, I need the second best thing. And that's snares. I'll need a knife to make one, though, and that might be an issue. Lauren seems pretty possessive over her weapons.

I see Al struggling to climb up a ropes course, and I shake my head. He slips, and suddenly, I hear laughing from across the room. The Dauntless.

People usually don't help their rivals, but I don't find Al as someone who's going to be jumping on his feet, ready to kill me. He seems to be pretty nice, actually. Who knows, it might be a façade, but I doubt it.

Hopping to my feet, I hastily walk to Al's aid. He's clutching his ankle, and the display of pain will make him look weak. So I bend down next to him, and whisper my plan in his ear.

"Go throw that, for them to see, okay?" I command. Al turns his focus to me, and furrows his eyebrows.

"Huh, no! Eric said not to." He disagrees. "Do you really want to look weak in front of them?" I glance towards the Dauntless. Gasping, Al clumsily picks himself up off the ground.

Slowly shuffling to the weights area, he takes a look around. The Dauntless are laughing as he grabs the nearest weight. Four looks rather arrogant and I suppose he thinks he has the right to be. To him, he's the Alpha male, the strongest and tallest of everyone in the room.

I love watching their expressions morph from hilarity to ones of astonishment. Then, Four mouths something that looks like, "Not bad," and nods his approval. Smirking, I walk back to the knot station.

* * *

The roof is pleasantly refreshing, unlike the rest of the Capitol. I know the plants are genetically altered, and the flowers vary in unnatural shades of neon, but the place is, for a lack of better word for it, beautiful.

Also, to top it off, I'm alone. Alone to get caught up in my own train of thoughts, without any disruptions.

Or so I thought.

"Well, I finally get the pleasure of meeting the infamous Tris Prior, otherwise known as the girl on fire." A deep, growling voice says behind me. I whip around to see Four.

"Lucky you, most people don't get the chance to." I reply, using the same threatening tone in my voice, but I don't think it works as well as it did when he used it.

"I guess not. Why the unhappy face?" He asks.

I scoff, and answer, "_It's probably because you're so approachable, you know, like a bed of nails"_

We have a little staring contest. He breaks it, and warns me.

"_Careful, Tris." _

Scoffing again, I roll my eyes. I might be scared of him, but it's not like he can do anything, yet.

"What, you think that's funny, Stiff?" He says, mockingly.

After I don't reply, he looks at me expectantly.

_Oh. _

Four thinks I'm going to be offended, because it's some kind of derogative name used for Abnegation. Amity doesn't stoop to the rest of the three factions' level, since they prefer peace and all.

I just snicker, causing him to give me a befuddled look.

"Wow, the big, bad Four called me a stiff. I'm terrified."

Instead of glaring, he just stares. And stares. And stares some more.

Then comes to sit beside me.

I shift, uncomfortable with being so close to a Dauntless. He hasn't started to talk about the plan of my death, or anything like that, but still. Abnegation and Dauntless don't necessarily care too much for each other. In fact, we get along less than the Candor and Amity. Of course, we'll always hate the Erudite the most.

"You're different." He tells me.

"What, you expect everyone you meet to be the same?" I quip.

"No, but I don't expect a stiff to act like someone from Dauntless." This takes me by surprise. Do I really act like someone from Dauntless?

I remain silent. There's nothing to say to that.

We sit in stillness for a couple of minutes. Then, I decide to ask him something.

"Should- I mean- why are you still here?"

The stuttering causes me to redden, once again in his presence.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't the Dauntless hate Abnegation or something? Or maybe the Capitol hates Abnegation, and in turn, for being the lapdogs, you hate us too?" I know I shouldn't say such things in a most likely bugged place, but I'm so tired that I don't care.

Four gives me a cautionary glare, and right when I'm about to start again, he clamps his hand over my mouth. Strangely enough, I notice how good his hand smells, since his hand is so large it covers my nostrils, too. Actually, he smells good everywhere else. Unlike the males in District Twelve, who smell like sweat and coal, he smells like mint and pine.

"Are you done?" He questions, and I was beginning to ask how he knew I was focusing on how good he smells, when I realize he meant talking bad about the Capitol.

I'm tempted to say no, but I think I've said enough to get myself purposefully killed. I settle for a nod instead. This satisfies him, and he removes his hand from my face.

I mumble something about his scent.

"What?" _Crap. _

"You-"

"I mean, you... never mind."

Now, Four's really looking at me like I'm a lunatic. To him, I probably am.

"Bye!" I manage to squeak, and stumble upstairs.

* * *

**First Fourtris encounter !**

**This story is so exciting to write that I'm considering abandoning my other two and just writing for this one. Except I think that's kind of mean for my other readers, so I won't. **

**Everything in italics is something actually from Divergent.**

**Thanks for all of the reviews/favorites/follows!**

**-DareToDreamBig**


	5. Chapter 5

_Valiant_

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**Chapter 5**

**Disclaimer: All credits go to Veronica Roth and Suzanne Collins, except for the actual story.**

* * *

_Tris_

_Training Room- Day 2_

Knives are fascinating to watch. Their sharp edges cut through the air, so clean.

I think about how bad of an aim I'd have if I tried to throw a knife. It must take a lot of time and dedication. To me, archery was easy to learn. That could be because I had observed my father for so long, as he showed me some basics, just in case I needed to use those skills. And, as it turns out, those skills helped me survive.

Except, here in the Capitol, I doubt archery will help me survive. I almost considered stabbing one of my stylists, the one with metallic silver skin, at breakfast today.

I mean, I can't trust someone who's so perky at seven in the morning.

"See something you like, Stiff?" Someone hisses from behind me. I start a little, causing _them _to chuckle. Molly stands behind me, crooked, yellowed teeth revealed as a sick smile stretches across her face. I drop my head down, back to working on a knot.

I don't even know why she's over here. And I'd ask her, but sometimes you have to pick and choose your fights. This one, I decide, is best to ignore. Four may have been an exception last night. However, Molly doesn't seem quite right in the head. She seems like the type of tribute that I've seen in every Hunger Games, the one who laughs as the victim cries. The thought of finding amusement from someone else's pain sickens me, and quite frankly, I don't want to come face to face with her in the arena.

After she walks away, bored with her unresponsive prey, I can finally exhale.

Across the room, I see Al, painting on his arm. Curious to know why, I walk over there. Somehow Al, who clumsily stomps instead of walking, hears me, almost from a mile away.

_Good trait to have in the arena, _I thought. I'll admit I'm a bit envious, as I usually don't hear someone approaching. I have the tendency to get caught up in my little bubble, not willing to come out.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice doesn't fit his frame.

"How'd you do that?" I ask, while I stare in amazement at the texture he's painted. Walking over to a makeshift tree, he presses his arm against the tree, blending in perfectly.

"What are you going to do, camouflage everyone to death?" I joke, smiling at him. He laughs, returning the grin. Then, he focuses on something behind me.

"I think you have a shadow."

Myra swiftly steps behind a column, and I smile. There's no way I'm going to hurt her in the arena. It seems like Edward shares the same sentiment, because I always see him stand behind her with a protective aura. He's definitely not a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

For what seems like the hundredth time today, I go to retrieve my knife from the floor. No matter what stance I stand in, I can't hit anywhere relatively close to the target. It hasn't even stuck yet.

Sighing, I attempt once again. And I fail, once again.

"You're doing it wrong," says a low voice. What is it with people coming up behind me today?

"Don't you think I know that?" I snap, turning to glare at Four. He returns my glower, and I shrink back slightly. "I haven't hit the target once!"

"I can tell." This causes me to frown.

He offers a hand, and I give him the knife.

Positioning himself in some kind of stance, he holds his knife in his left hand.

"First, make sure you're holding it in your dominant hand."

Then, he demonstrates a throw, except he doesn't actually release the knife.

"Don't snap your wrist, as weird as it sounds. Instead of just letting go of the knife, let it slide out of your hand. Most throws from beginners fall short, because of this reason. You will see an experienced thrower's knife easily glide through the air." Four instructs, and grabs my wrist. His grip is gentle, but firm. I redden from the physical contact.

I duplicate his position, and he grabs my shoulders, pushing them back. Picking up the knife, I relax my shoulders, step back a little, and throw.

It hits the outer edge of the bull's eye.

"Thanks," I breathe. Four nods, and pats me on the back. I don't know what game he's playing, but the whole nice act is confusing me.

I get in the position again, and prepare to throw.

* * *

This time, Four doesn't come to the roof. I'm glad for that, because even though he helped me and doesn't seem as bad as the rest of the Dauntless, he's the strongest out of all of them. There's no doubt in my mind that he's trying to get in my head. Unfortunately for him, I don't fall for every handsome guy I see, though I haven't seen many. In most cases, you'd think that would make a girl fluctuate even closer to a boy, but not me. Sometimes, my general suspicion of everyone can be a curse. Other times, like this one, it's a blessing.

Maybe my bias prevents me from getting too close to anyone, but I've had many people tell my mom how shocked they are about my social abilities. I don't have a filter, really, and I don't see why they say this. It's not like I'm immediately everyone's friend and I'm no social butterfly.

I then think of my strategy for the game, which accounts to the "run and hide" method. This is a favorite for all of the tributes, excluding the Dauntless. Their bravery is commonly evolved to idiocy, and this is seen when they march through the arena, yelling for tributes to come out and play. As if anyone's stupid enough to do that.

Well, there was one year, when an Amity boy heard a District One male say, "We just want to make a friend." He, of course, took this taunting to be serious, and eagerly snuck out of his hidden cave, the perfect hiding place. The Dauntless took their precious time immobilizing the boy, who repeatedly begged for mercy.

That is why I'm glad I didn't grow up in Amity, who teach their people to try and see the positive in everyone. Even if that includes searching for something that doesn't exist.

They have even fewer victors than Abnegation. Despite District Twelve only having two victors in the past seventy-four years, District Eleven children grow up strong, from working in the harvest.

Also, they're usually the ones who can successfully stay hidden in a tree for the whole games, and know which plants to avoid. This is because they have many elders to teach them the difference, and I envy them a bit. District Twelve barely has any elders, as most of us die from starvation, hypothermia, infection, and from the fumes of the mines. However, this makes us immune to the conditions of the arena, and many clever kids from Twelve can make it pretty far in the games, if they make it past the bloodbath.

I just hope I'll be able to do the same.

* * *

**Who doesn't love Four teaching Tris how to throw knives? **

**I need more reviews! That's one of the most exciting parts of having a story on fanfiction, knowing other people want to talk about it, and continue to read it. I'd like to know suggestions and any improvements to make. Most authors aren't going to want to write if they don't know if people like it. But thanks to those who have, and you will always have my full appreciation, unless you're downright flaming my story. Thanks to everyone who reviews my story, and you favoriters/followers don't go unnoticed!**

**Oh, and I don't think I'll update on Mondays. I might, and that doesn't mean I'll update every day, but it is unlikely I will update on Mondays anytime. **

**Have a nice week!**

**-DareToDreamBig**


	6. Chapter 6

_Valiant _

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**Disclaimer: All credits go to Veronica Roth and Suzanne Collins, except for the actual story.**

* * *

_Tris _

_Private Sessions/ Day 3 In Training _

Today is the day that my fate with sponsors is decided. No one's going to sponsor anyone with a low score, no matter the connections. That's what Eric told me this morning. We have a bit of training, but it will be cut short for the private sessions, in which we will be evaluated.

District One will go first and District Twelve will be last. This is an obvious disadvantage, as the Gamemakers' attention will be lost when they get further on. In turn, us lower districts won't be paid much attention to.

My blood boils at the information, but I've learned, since from a young age, life isn't fair. Why would the Capitol be any different?

These rebellious thoughts remain swimming in my head, and multiply with each day I spend in the Capitol. It's a good thing no one can read minds, at least from what I've heard, because if they could, I'd certainly be dead now. Maybe tortured, for the worst.

* * *

Al and I walk into the Training Room. As usual, the Dauntless glare at us. Actually, they glare at anyone not in their little exclusive group. This doesn't, however, make me feel any better. You can tell Molly hates me, as I did "steal" her spotlight. Not that I'm much to look at, but the Capitol wasn't fascinated with my face. No, they were looking at the flames. _Fake _flames, might I add. Nonetheless, it still gained me potential sponsors. I have yet to thank Tori, and I make a mental note to do so.

"So, are you going to try using a weapon?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant. Sure, Al isn't the most threatening of tributes, but one Victor, Christina Kravitz, pretended to be weak, and ended up being the most brutal tribute in the arena. In result, she won, and I can't help but be impressed by her deceiving skills. Especially since she's from Candor, who don't have a lying bone in their body.

Of course, that doesn't guarantee Al will do the same, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

"No, I think I'll stick to the weights. I might try out the knives later, but I'm not sure it'll help much."

I nod, and carry on. The Abnegation in me wants to offer my help, as I seem to have a natural talent for knives, after Four's lesson, but some other logical part of me doesn't want him to have that advantage.

I decide it'll be a smart choice to practice with knives, so I can have something else to show in the private sessions. But when I walk over to the station, I hear yelling.

"Did you take my knife?!"

It's Four, without doubt.

As I edge closer, he also storms nearer to the boy, the poor boy who has been accused of stealing Four's knife. He may have, but it looks like he regrets even coming near the station now.

Everyone's looking, except for Edward. I follow his gaze, up to the ceiling, and I see Myra, strapped in some kind of harness, holding the knife. I shake my head, and hope she doesn't get caught.

"HE TOOK MY KNIFE!" Four shouts, attempting to push away from the Peacekeepers and attack. However, he seems to know better, that even though he could easily knock them out, he should walk away from the fight.

He finally notices he has an audience, and he catches my gaze. Like he did after the Tribute Parade, he slowly looks at me, up and down. Strangely, this time, he bites his lips and drops his head. As if he's ashamed, except I know well than to believe that.

He's Dauntless, after all.

* * *

My leg can't stop shaking, no matter how much I try to prevent it. This is not what I need, anxiety, and Al isn't helping. He keeps reassuring me I'll be okay, and I do like support, just not this kind. Not the kind where the person is seemingly trying to reassure themselves rather than me.

"Beatrice Prior, District Twelve."

Slowly, I pull myself off of the cold bench. My knees almost collapse, but I regain my strength just in time. Now only if I could gain the mental strength, I'd be fine.

The door lifts up, and I walk in. There's no reason to look around, I've seen it all, and so I keep my head straight, and up. Apparently, confidence can have a huge difference on your evaluation.

They're all talking and eating as I head to the archery station. I clear my throat, and this grasps their attention.

I swiftly grab the bow and load an arrow. This is nothing I haven't done before.

Taking a deep breath, I pull my right arm back.

_Breathe, take a big breath Tris, remember what dad always said? Think of Molly, with her stupid arrogant face, in front of the target. _

Unsurprisingly, this causes me to straighten, and feel more eager. More eager to kill, in a way.

I still keep my position accurate, and I square my shoulders.

_Time to release. _

And I do just that.

And again, until each dummy is pierced, right on the bulls eye, with an arrow.

I don't stop, after I complete this task, and I move over to the knives, grabbing one in my right hand.

With every tip Four taught me in mind, I release. My aim is a little off, but deadly.

I look up, expecting some impressed faces. Yet I see none. They all yell happily about some stupid pig that some stupid person ordered. This angers me, as you can tell, and I know the rage is coming on.

You see, I have the tendency to let my rage take over me. Not quite like the Dauntless, but this trait makes me do reckless things without considering the consequences. Point made, I pick up the bow once again, and let the arrow fly in the direction of the intended target, which just so happens to be the apple in that pig's mouth.

My goal is achieved.

* * *

I storm through the penthouse, not bothering to answer the questions repeatedly called to me. Everyone looks on with confusion, but I continue the lifetime of a trek to my room. Hot, angry tears threaten to spill over my reddened cheeks, and I let them, once I'm out of sight.

Sometimes, I'm not the best at keeping the waterworks in. Not that I cry at every little thing, but this isn't exactly little.

I miss my mother so much, who remained strong, even without our father. The love of her life, who she knew was the one when she met him. Every time I'd be upset, she'd wrap her arms around me, and despite the Abnegation's rule of tears being a telltale sign of selfishness, would whisper to me that it'd be okay if I cried. I didn't hesitate, and just did.

I imagine her being here with me, and I cry. I let out all of the emotions I've bottled up since being drawn in the Reaping.

There is no shame, nor are there any limitations. I let it all out.

Until I'm called for the scoring results. As though it never happened, my face is cleared and impassive.

I sit down between Tori and Al, folding my knees in so I look even more like a kid.

Al smiles uncertainly at me, and I try to return the expression. I don't know if it worked, because he looks back to the screen.

Eric's just staring at me, an unreadable emotion on his face. Not that I care much.

Peter scores a nine, Molly following with an only slightly above average eight. It doesn't matter, because I know I'll get much lower. Lauren receives a respectful ten.

Everyone groans when Four's number shows up, and I can't contain my gasp. It's a record-breaking eleven. Mine's going to be a record-breaking score, too, except it'll go in the negative direction. No one's ever gotten a one, but there's a first for everything.

Some guy from District Four, Drew, gets an eight. He'll probably be seen with the Dauntless.

Most are nothing to worry about. Edward earns a concerning nine, and Myra comes out nicely with a seven.

Al leans forward, bouncing on the couch.

All of us with the exception of me take in a sharp breath.

And releases it out with a cheer when an eight shows up. I grin, and pat him on the back.

Everyone sobers up to look at mine.

_This is it, _I think. _This is the final determination of my death. _'

My name shows up, and I feel the bad type of butterflies in my stomach flutter. The anxiety pests that can cause possible vomit if the situation is bad enough.

At first I think I'm seeing double, but the jumps and screams of joy make me reconsider my thought.

There's a one, yes, but another follows.

Tori grabs me into a hug, Eric smirks and ruffles my hair, Artesia kisses my cheeks, Al's stylist, George, squeals and embraces me, yet I see Al pivot and walk into his room. I can't get a glimpse of his face, but I really don't want to.

I try to celebrate, as this is better than what I expected. At least that's what I attempt to convince myself. The truth is I'm now a threat.

To everyone, not just the Dauntless, and I know Al isn't going to be so friendly anymore.

Four's going to make it his goal to show his role as alpha, and I don't think I can fight back very long.

* * *

Something feels wrong on the roof, and I get the suspicion someone is watching me. I ignore this, as it may just be the assumed cameras, but I can't shake the feeling away.

The Capitol is anxious for tomorrow, and they thoroughly show this with their cheers. If this is for the interviews, I don't want to hear it tomorrow night.

What I hope is real wind casts a breeze in the closed off area. The skies are too blue, the air smells too clean, and I've never felt so out of place before in my life. I belonged in District Twelve, where my mother, Caleb, and Will must be giddy with excitement for my exemplary score.

I wish I was naïve enough to share the sentiment. Sometimes, I think things would be nice if I had that outlook on life.

In consideration, I did grow up around death. Survival was something I worked for every day, and my skills weren't acquired just for the arena, like the Dauntless are taught.

Life wasn't ever taken for granted in Abnegation, that's for sure.

I guess taking a little ride on the train of thoughts kind of makes me forget about my hunter's senses, because the next thing I know, a dirtied white strip of cloth is covering my mouth, making my screams muffled. Someone's picking me off the ledge.

They tug me toward the fountain, the deep fountain that the Capitol isn't guarding, for some unknown reason. They change their mind, and drag me downstairs into some secluded room with a hole in the floor, and I can see sharp edges of rock that form a cliff. Water rushes down below.

I scream, yet no Peacekeepers come.

I finally get a look at my kidnappers, and two of them are masked. Somehow, I don't think the cloth prevents my screams from being louder this time, because Al is upon them.

A familiar voice says something. _Peter. _The other is too short and skinny to be Four, so it must be Drew.

"You don't have much to offer, now do you? You look like a twelve year old," he cackles, and a disgusting smell of fish and liquor comes out along with the taunting laugh.

My voice is straining as I continue to screech. He's touching me in places I'd like to not be touched. Tears are coming down my cheeks, like waterfalls. Like the water flowing below. They pick me up and set me on the opposite side of the railing, which I'm desperately trying to hold onto with my sweaty fingertips.

I knew who he was when he spoke.

My savior, as I should call him. I didn't expect it to be _him, _of all people. Four's deep voice curses and I hear multiple thumps, and a few grunts. Sometime along the way, my abductors remembered to tie a blindfold over my eyes.

"Tris!"

I feel a strong grip lift me back over to safety. I don't stop myself from burying my face into Four's chest. He's the only comfort I have now, and my mind is too fuzzy to even think.

_If I could think straight right now, I don't think I would. _

* * *

**DON'T READ ALLEGIANT IN CLASS! SAVE YOURSELVES!**

**I cried when I finished. 'Nuff said. **

**But, back to my story. I know Fourtris is moving what may be too fast, but don't worry, there won't be any kissing now. Or do worry; I don't know your opinion. **

**-DareToDreamBig**


	7. Chapter 7

_Valiant _

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**Chapter 7**

* * *

_Tris_

_Interviews: Day 4_

I wake up to Artesia's voice calling me to wake up and get ready. It's strange, because I don't remember coming back to my room last night.

Then, I recall what happened last night. And I have the bruises to prove it. Quite an inconvenience, as I have interviews tonight. Not to mention that today's my last day of safety, and the last day I'll be somewhere besides the arena. Unless you count my ashes/corpse that'll be sent back to District Twelve, in a box.

_Don't think like that Tris. _

But the truth is inevitable.

As I examine my bruises, my blood begins to boil, at the thought of being in the same apartment as Al. Never in my life have I wanted to hurt someone as bad as I want to hurt him. But, again, there's a first for everything.

Something catches my eye, on my bedside table. It seems to be a tube of some type. And there's a note attached to it.

_Apply to the bruises, and there will be an immediate result. It's some type of fancy ointment to keep the Capitol citizen's "beauty" fresh. _

_-Four _

I snort at the word "beauty", and have a renewed appreciation for Four. Maybe his intentions aren't so great, to get in my head and let my guard down, but for the moment, I don't care. It's not like I'm going to sit there and allow him to kill me if I have a weapon in my hand. I'm, without doubt, not that kind of girl.

* * *

"Okay, darling, head up! You're doing fan-tas-tic right now."

_Yeah, I'm doing fan-tas-tic at not strangling you right now, _I add silently in my mind. This has been going on for hours now, and I still haven't overcome my fear of heels yet. They'd be great for my height if they weren't little death traps.

But seriously, why can't I just wear flat heeled shoes?

It's not like I'm going to run through the arena with heels on. Sure, these are for the interview, except I think you can find nice shoes without the heel being seven inches or so.

"No, you're too wobbly! I thought we had already gone through _that _stage." Artesia scolds and I roll my eyes. I'm keeping my complaining to myself; why can't she do the same?

"Sorry." I say sarcastically, through gritted teeth. Apparently, she didn't hear the sarcasm, so she just patted me on the back, and chirped, "It's quite okay, darling."

_I swear, if she calls me darling one more time, I'll shove these heels down her throat. _

"If only all of the District Twelve tributes were as well-mannered as you are..." She trails off, sighing.

This makes me form my hand into a fist, since most of District Twelve's kids are starving and isolated. We may be taught manners, but most of our thoughts don't center on being polite.

"Beatrice, are you okay there?"

I haven't heard my full name in a while. I guess hearing the nickname originally given by Will, which the Capitol so righteously decided to put it upon themselves to name me, stuck.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

That's what she wanted to hear anyway, right?

* * *

"Sarcasm isn't appreciated in the Capitol." Eric tells me, after my third retort.

I gape at him, and he shakes his head. "They don't like it when people make them look stupid."

"They do that well enough on their own." I mutter, and he cackles.

"If they did, you'd be a favorite. A plus onthe wit." He says, and I grin.

I don't particularly care much for my mentor at all, but compliments are always a good thing. No one gives me any often, because once I open my mouth, all else fails. There's no lying; I do think before I speak, and I choose to say certain things regardless of what somebody will think.

"We could work with the whole sweet and innocent façade, but that seems a little too much for you to pull off. Unless if you're a good actress?"

"I'm okay," I admit, biting my lip. I'm actually not too bad, and usually had to lie a lot when trading at the Hob. Dishonesty is usually frowned upon in Abnegation, yet not as much as in Candor.

"How about strong willed and determined?"

"That's the same thing," I say, giving Eric a pointed look.

He ruffles my hair and tells me, "We just found your front."

* * *

Next was Tori, the only person I don't get annoyed with.

"There's no doubt in my mind that you'll do great."

"But what if they don't like me? I'm not the nicest, prettiest, or funniest person, you know."

She crosses the room, and folds her arms against her chest. I shrug.

"I'm not!"

"You got me to like you."

"That's different, I wasn't trying." I confess, and it's the truth. My first thoughts when I arrived in the Capitol didn't include buddying up with my stylist. Tori doesn't even have the irritating accent the citizens have, and doesn't dye her skin pink.

"Well, then, there you go! Don't try too hard, smile, and you'll be fine. Besides, you already have everyone's attention and likes from the Parade, so nothing that comes out of your mouth can ruin it too much. And the audience will just laugh if you mess up." She lectures, and I realize she's right.

It's rare I will state someone's right, but I still grudgingly say, "I guess that's fine."

She grins, and leads me to the dressing area.

When she pulls out what I heard was called a garment bag, a long red dress is revealed.

I won't go into detail, because it is indescribable. There's no plain part about it, and once she slides it over my frame, I find it makes me look taller. Add the heels, and I'll go from childishly skinny and short to noticeable and elegant.

"Wow," I breathe, as I look in the mirror.

"I'll motion for you to twirl, and I expect you to do so, okay?"

I nod, and take many deep breaths.

_I can do this. _

* * *

We line up in order from District One to District Twelve, female in front of male. I see Four, but he doesn't acknowledge me. Whatever, it's not like we're friends or anything.

"Let's have a warm round of applause for... Molly!" Jack Kang announces, and Molly struts out. Well, she tries to. It's obvious she's trying to go for sultry, but the too-short dress makes her muscular frame look oddly square. Plus, her voice is forced to be high pitched, yet she sounds more mice-like than feminine.

Usually I don't insult people, but there's no bother in trying to stop these thoughts from running through my head. I have no respect for Molly at all, as I see her tormenting the weaker tributes in the past few days. No matter if they're minding their own business.

Most of the interviews go like this. I pay special attention to Four's, to see if he's going to reveal any useful information.

"So, Four, do you think the odds are in your favor?"

He looks out into the crowd, and answers, "I certainly think so. What about you?"

The crowd roars, and Jack Kang nods his head so fast that he looks like a bobble head.

"Any competition you see as worthy?"

"There are definitely... people I need to look out for. No one too much for me to handle, though."

Then, Jack asks the question that makes the ladies of the crowd go crazy.

"Four, may I ask you if there's a girl waiting for you? There must be someone, a handsome fellow like yourself."

Everyone is on their toes, waiting desperately for him to answer. I'm kind of curious, too. Is there someone he wants to go back home to?

"There is one girl, but I don't think she likes me back."

Many groans of frustration and disappointment are thrown out.

"Who is the lucky lady?"

Four regains his posture, and smirks.

"In due time, I'll tell you. You will see me back soon."

That's all we get to hear, and the timer buzzes.

* * *

"Please welcome Beatrice Prior!"

The lights shining on my face are too bright, and I feel like I'm about to vomit. Of course, if I do that, I'll be the laughing stock of Panem. I'd know because a tribute did that one year, and when the Dauntless killed him, they mocked him about it the whole time.

It took all of my concentration not to wobble on my heels or trip over my dress. My mother used to laugh at my clumsiness.

"So Tris, what are you enjoying about the Capitol so far?"

"Oh, absolutely the food, all the way. I've never seen so much in my life." I reply, and to my surprise, I didn't stutter.

Apparently, this was funny, and laughs arose from around the room. Do they react happily to everything?

"I must say, when I saw you in that chariot, I jumped. My heart dropped from my chest to my stomach." And to dramatize, he put his hand over his chest.

"Yeah, I was focusing on not getting burnt. Wouldn't that be something?"

More laughter, yet I don't see what's amusing. I can make people laugh, but this isn't the type of stuff I say when I'm trying to do so.

Looking over to Tori, she makes a twirling motion.

"But I do have them- the flames- on today. Would you like to see?"

Jack grins eagerly, and I slowly rise from my chair. Then, holding the sides of the dress slightly, I twirl. And twirl until I see it, the flames dancing around my ankles. Most of my dress is joining the inferno, but there's, again, only that faint tickling feeling.

Before I get dizzy, I stop, and notice everyone's clapping, in a standing ovation.

"Wow, props to your stylist!"

Everyone turns to Tori, and she greets them with a mini wave and grins.

"Unfortunately, that's all the time we have for today. Let's have another round of applause for Tris!"

* * *

I don't even blink when Al confesses his "love" for me. He's treading in rough waters, attempting to get sponsors. Luckily for him, it's working.

I see Al for how he truly is; manipulative.

Perhaps I'm judging him too harshly, but he deserves this. I understand why Abnegation always stresses the dangers of envy, and I've been on the receiving side of the blow.

There's not going to be any saving him in the arena.

At least, that's what I tell myself. I'll always have my faction's rules in mind. That's something I won't ever get rid of.

"That's surprising. Usually guys don't hurt the girls they like," Four mumbles from next to me, and his sudden appearance startles me. He snickers when I jump. In result, I glare at him.

"Yeah, he's not being very truthful. Not cut out to be Candor, I see."

Four nods in agreement, and for a moment, we just stand there, watching the end of the interviews.

"Thanks for saving me," I blurt out.

A small smile is thrown in return, and the silence reappears.

"Good luck, Tris." He says, and the sincerity in his voice makes me almost believe him.

However, I can't brush away common sense, which tells me he doesn't wish such a thing as luck, for a rival in the arena.

After a few seconds of intense staring, he turns and walks away.

_Good luck, Four. _

* * *

**It's been what, a day? **

**Sorry for the lack of an update yesterday. I had vocal lessons and much studying/homework to do. You know the drill, school comes first. **

**Thanks for the favorites and follows, but can we work on the reviews? I'll read and review yours if you really want me to. **

**Oh, and my apologies for the multiple line breaks. So much to fit in a filler chapter.**

**Have a fun weekend!**

**-DareToDreamBig**


	8. Chapter 8

_Valiant _

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

**Chapter 8**

* * *

_Tris_

_The Arena: Day 1 of THG; Bloodbath_

Today is the day.

The last day I will see real sunlight.

The last day I will have some kind of safety

And, possibly, the last day I breathe.

It's too nerve-racking to eat. If I consume much, it'll come back up.

I've held back my anxiety for much too long and it will show today. I'm not Tris Prior, the Girl on Fire, today. I'm Beatrice Prior, a 16 year old who has no sense of strength today.

Eric isn't drunk, to my relief, and seems jittery. Al is gnawing on his lip.

And me? I'm still.

So still that Tori continued to give me worried glances all throughout breakfast, as if to see if I was alive.

This sudden mood swing isn't so surprising to me. Yet I have to remember these people don't know me well.

"Ready?" Eric asks.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

* * *

I already hate syringes, and try to dodge the woman holding the plunger.

She forcefully takes my arm and shoves the needle into the limb. It lights up, weirdly enough, but disappears in the matter of seconds.

Lauren is seated to my right, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her look around the hovercraft and smirk.

_Crazy chick, _I think.

I really don't want to encounter her in the arena. Her accuracy is dreadful, and beats mine by a long run. Myra is on my left, and is glancing at everyone with wide eyes. She's the only person I'll even consider being in an alliance with.

I notice my feet barely touch the floor, and I groan internally. This is one of those times it'd be nice to be taller, just by a couple of inches. People would describe me as more willowy than childish if this was the case.

After flying for quite a while, I feel the hovercraft come to a stop, and I swallow the bile rising up my throat. This is the time to be brave, even if it's just pretend.

This is the time to be Dauntless.

* * *

Tori embraces me when I enter my room in the catacombs.

I feel my eyes water, and it takes all of my willpower to not start bawling.

"It's okay if you cry," she whispers, and I shake my head.

"No, it's not. Not today. Not anytime soon," I argue, as if I'll actually make it out.

She sighs, and zips up the layered jacket.

I see a bit of gold peak out from an unzipped part and Tori pulls it down farther to reveal my Abnegation pin. I widen my eyes, and she presses a thin finger to her lips. Nodding, I zip it up.

"Drink this," she encourages, handing me a glass of water. I take a few sips, until I feel it's all I can hold down. I wonder about my family and Will, then mentally kick myself for not thinking of them before now. Who can imagine how they feel?

I hear a beep, and an automated voice calls out, "30 seconds."

Tori hugs me once again, and I close my eyes, trying not to cry. This is probably the last safe contact I'll have with someone, so I better make it last.

She breaks the hug, and I drag my feet towards the tube, the tube that will bring me into the arena, where my final breaths will be taken. Where my final words will be spoken, if I have anything to say.

It happens all too quickly, the tube pulls me up onto the pedestal, and at my desperate attempts to see Tori, she nods.

I remember Eric saying earlier, "You can do this," and Tori's, "If I could bet, I'd bet on you."

This is the remaining hope I must hold and cherish. The faith few people have in me.

I think this as the countdown starts.

* * *

10 seconds are left.

9 seconds until I can step off.

8 seconds remain before I'm unsafe.

7 seconds signal the readying position.

6.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

0.

The gong chimes.

I frantically move, willing to escape, but first, I must find some kind of... something. I'm so frazzled I just stand for a few seconds.

I watch the first knife being thrown, and see Peter crouched over, repeatedly stabbing a faceless kid in the chest.

This wills me to act, and I spot a backpack.

I race towards it, and if I weren't in a warzone, I'd probably laugh at how comical I most likely look. I size it up as it gets closer in my vision. The orange will have to be camouflaged.

I feel a bit of freedom as I take off into the woods, not bothering to look back. A moment's hesitation will result in death. It has happened countless times in the past Games; a tribute's head chopped off, something that could've easily been avoided if they would have just moved.

My brain decides it's best to take high ground, so I scurry up a tree.

It just occurs to me that I survived the first part of the game. Besides the final battle, the bloodbath is described as being the deadliest fraction of the arena. I was too much of a coward to scope out the area before I stepped off the pedestal, and I realize it is similar to the woods at home. Some may consider this an unfair advantage, but it's not my problem that they don't guard the wilds well enough.

After all of that, the only thing I can comprehend is my survival.

This is familiar. This adrenaline is sharpening my hunter's instincts, and I finally am fully in with it.

The thing my mentor and stylist has told me finally occurs to me.

_I can survive. _

* * *

**Come in with drama, end with drama. **

**I think I'm meant for a soap opera or whatever.**

**But yay, Tris finally figures out she can survive. Like, self-conscious much? I have more confidence than she did, and I can't even do a push up. That has nothing to do with anything, but still...**

**Point made, I know I updated today (right now it's 11:40 pm), but I have so many ideas.**

**Here's a fair warning: this story is going to be loooonnggg. **

**Goodnight!**

**-DareToDreamBig**


	9. Chapter 9

_Valiant _

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

**Chapter 9**

* * *

_Tris _

_Day One of The Games: Part 2_

_..._

Thirteen are dead in one day.

As the fallen tributes are shown, I'm sad to say all of the Dauntless are alive.

But thankfully, Myra is holding up. I hope she isn't injured or being hunted down.

This happy stupor doesn't last long.

"Come on, Lover Boy," I hear a familiar voice call out. I almost fall out of the tree, and if it weren't for the rope holding me in, I'd be dead meat. If they see me, I am.

There's no shock, however, when I see Al with them. Maybe a few days ago, there would've been, but no, not anymore. I still gasp, but they don't hear.

All except for one, Four being that exception.

He looks up to the branch where I'm perched, and narrows his eyes. An angry glare is thrown my way, causing me to scrunch my face up in confusion, mixed in with a little bit of fear. Why isn't he telling the others?

"You all need to branch out further, while I scope out this area," He instructs, and they all begin to whine. He gives them the same look he gave me, and they immediately shut up. I suppose he's the leader of this little group.

"What do you think you're doing here, in plain sight," Four hisses, and I scowl at him.

"Excuse me, but I don't think I'm doing anything. I'm smart enough to know that it's easier to find someone on low grounds."

I'm even shocked by the bitter tone of my voice, and he is too. His mouth hangs open like a fish for a few split seconds, but he clamps his jaw shut, and squares his shoulders. This is, assumingly, his "predator" stance, yet I find myself lacking fearfulness this time.

"Careful, Tris."

He whispers this in a calm voice, and it's frightening. I think I'd prefer him to yell, because when he's like this, you almost can't tell if he is threatening you or not.

"Why don't you come down here, and talk for a while?"

The question arises even more confusion, and I snicker.

"Like I'm senseless enough to do that. I know the second I come down from here. you'll stab me in the heart with that sword of yours. If you're really feeling cruel, more than usual anyway, you'll drag it out."

He grips his sword tighter, and I can really see the anger in his face this time.

"I think you should know better than to call me cruel. I did help you, if you've forgotten," He states, and I roll my eyes. Might as well call it my signature move.

"Yes, but I also know what game you're playing. I've seen it before, many times actually."

Four looks at me with disbelief, and I shrug, raising my eyebrows.

_What? It's true. _

"Mind telling me exactly what game I'm playing? All I have been is nice to you."

"I'd hardly call anything you do kind." I retort. I can picture Eric laughing, and everyone around him looking at him with concerned looks on their faces. Or, just ignoring him, as they usually do.

"Watch it, Tris, or I'll make my way up there," He warns.

"Someone can't comprehend sarcasm."

I can't help myself from taunting him, even though I know District Twelve is looking on with disapproval, if they're watching. They should be glad their tributes are still alive, though.

"Okay, that's it," He growls, and sets his backpack at the tree's stump. Then, he swings his leg up onto a low branch, and begins the climb.

"Steady, there!" I call, and almost forget the surrounding tributes. Seeing he's getting closer, I untie the rope, gather my belongings, and pull myself up higher. This is quite simple to do with my smaller frame, and I imagine it must be complicated to do if you're as muscular and tall as he is.

Yet his movements are careful and sharp, not the expected sloppy position I've seen when Will tries to climb.

I gulp slightly, and desperately pick up speed. This is not what I anticipated, and I say silent goodbyes in my head, if I do happen to get caught.

"Why so scared now, Stiff." Four shouts and I grimace. His voice is awful close, too close to be safe.

I will for him to fall, maybe to break his neck. None of my wishes are granted.

I feel a tug on my ankle, and I attempt to kick him in the face. He predicted this, as I can tell, and blocks the kick with a swift grab.

"Come on, Four! Shouldn't you pick on someone your own size," I tease, but my heart is thumping rapidly in my chest. There's nothing I can do now, nothing I can do except for praying and hoping.

"I would've considered it if you weren't so insensitive beforehand."

And with that and one last tug, I come tumbling down to the branch he's on.

After tucking his sword in his belt, he pulls out a decent sized knife, and I now know I'm the prey. The role is switched.

"This is what's going to happen," He starts, and I analyze to see if there's any way I can escape.

Four must see my frantic movements, because he chuckles, a low, throaty laugh, and tightens his grip.

"You can either come with me, to be with the Dauntless, or the knife wins." He murmurs in my ear, and this time, my heart flutters. It's a strange feeling, really, but perhaps it's from the death threat.

I shake my head stubbornly. In return, the same chilling laugh as before is let out, and I attempt to punch him.

"Karma's a you-know-what," Four says, and traces the lining of my ear with his knife.

I cringe, and try swatting him in the face, with no prevail.

Another round of snickering, and I'm now positive there isn't an escape.

* * *

**Fourtris!**

**Well, if you consider that romance. It's more of a dangerous encounter. **

**Tris doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut, does she? **

**-DareToDreamBig**


	10. Chapter 10

_Valiant_

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

**Chapter 10 **

* * *

_Tris_

_Day 1/Day 2: With the Dauntless_

"Why?" I ask, as he finally lets me go, and I place my hands on my hips.

He scratches his neck, and answers, "You're too curious for your own good."

"Well, most people would!" I defend, and he shakes his head.

"No, most people would shut their mouths and keep quiet. After all, I'm offering protection and supplies. What more could you want?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe to not be stabbed in my sleep?"

Four sighs and I mimic him. Apparently, he hates being mocked, because a glare is thrown my way.

"I'll protect you. They listen to me."

"Peter might attempt to assault me, again. And Al and Drew will be there to help, again." I hear arguing helps distract someone, so I hope one of the other Dauntless members will call for him and he'll forget about me.

"If they do that, then I'll kill them."

"Murder's not always the answer, you know," I scold.

"Do you want to live or not?"

I begin to weigh my options. I could escape when they're asleep, and find a new section of the arena to hide in. They might even offer me a weapon, since I'd be useless without one. I wouldn't take them out then, because they'd be more willing to kill me.

"Fine."

He gives me my backpack and presses a firm hand on my back, leading me to the rest of them. I don't like the feeling, of being a prisoner. Some would say that I'm lucky, but I have a sick feeling about this.

"You brought her here for me to kill, Four?" Molly greets, and I look at him expectantly.

"No one kills her."

It's funny, seeing the Dauntless with gaping mouths and words failing to escape.

"Why?"

I'm surprised at Peter's willingness to question Four, and he does too.

"Why, Peter? Because I said so."

I snort, and he turns, raising an eyebrow. I throw my hands up in defense, and he grabs my arm, pulling me to a secluded area, surrounded by trees.

"I would recommend not acting so hostile. I understand that you have some kind of adversary against being afraid of me, but now is not the time. Hopefully, you know I won't think twice about injuring you, without food, water, or a weapon. Got it?"

I gulp, and nod. I really do need to work on keeping my mouth shut, because Four's quick mood swings are quite frightening, to say the least.

* * *

As we come back to the camp, I see Al, and he has a pleading look in his eyes. I shake my head slightly, and glance away, not wanting to stare at the sad look he has on his face.

I understand I have a problem with holding grudges, but I'm not going to go back to being the friendly girl I was with him. I'd even call him a friend before the incident. When someone breaks my trust, it's almost impossible to gain it back.

"Your sleeping bag is going to be near mine, so I can make sure you aren't making a run for it," Four says, and I almost slap him across his face. His handsome face.

_Don't you dare think like that._

He grins a little, as if my anger at him treating me like a kid is amusing. I bet it is, to someone who isn't affected by it.

"Don't be so mad. I could always put you next to Peter," He whispers in my ear, and I shiver.

"There's no way I'm getting any place near Peter." I mutter back.

* * *

It's probably around twelve when we get to sleep. I struggle getting comfortable, and so do the others.

Four is on watch, and I feel his eyes on me. Probably judging to see when I'll attempt to escape. I don't blame him, honestly, but I'm getting a little uncomfortable with his stares. They're so intense that it feels like he's looking right through my skin and into my soul.

On top of all that, Peter's about a few feet away. Thankfully, Four placed him diagonally from me, with his and Molly's sleeping bags between us.

To try and go to sleep, I think of home. Oh, how I'd like to be home right now.

Never once have I wished for another place to be home, yet here I am, in a closed off area with around 10 possible killers, and six certain ones are sleeping near me. Somehow, this freaks me out more than it should, even though Four said he'd kill them if they tried to hurt me. Of course, my general suspicion of people causes me to think he's lying, and I'm not so sure he isn't.

I think of Will, the best friend I could possibly ask for. Caleb's the best brother, undoubtedly, except sometimes I feel much younger next to him, and really selfish. He's always offering to help, and I forget to.

These thoughts, so familiar yet far away, are soothing. My eyes are starting to droop, and my senses are rough.

I hear the fire, that they so stupidly left burning, crackling, and I quickly drift into a dreamless rest.

* * *

"Wake up," Four demands, and for a moment, I sit there, stretching.

"You going deaf, Stiff? I told you to wake up, which means getting up and doing something."

I pick myself up, seeing he's obviously cranky in the morning. Actually, I think he's cranky all of the time, since he's always snapping at everyone who unsatisfies him.

"Drew, gather the supplies." He orders, and Drew, without hesitation, begins to roll up the sleeping bags and stack the pillows. It's amazing how everyone automatically listens to Four, most of the time. There's the occasional idiot like Peter, who is too dense to recognize someone as a threat.

However, I don't think Peter is much of a threat to Four. I'm not either, regardless of my equal score. As Eric stated, they only gave me the eleven for my daring attitude.

"We're going hunting. Tris and I will take the lead, and Peter will take the rear."

I know what hunting he's talking about, and it's not the kind I do.

"I almost forgot, Tris, what weapon did you use to get that eleven?" Four asks, glancing at me.

"Bow and arrows."

He nods, and hands me the silver bow, something I've been longing over in the past week.

Lauren doesn't even acknowledge my existence as I grab some bags, and to be honest, I'm glad she doesn't. She hasn't spoken at all, except the small agreement to whatever Four tells her. If I was really truthful, I'd say she's the most worrisome out of all of the Dauntless.

After all of the supplies are ready, we set off. I cringe at how loud they are, marching through the woods and shouting, without bothering to cover their tracks. If they call this hunting, then they must be pretty inexperienced.

Four sees my irritation, and teases, "Too loud for you, Stiff?"

I shrug, not really wanting to get in an argument. I've learnt how to pick my fights with him, which means being submissive. I hate it, not being in control, but for now, I don't have much of a choice.

"I just think we're probably scaring away most of the tributes." I say, after much contemplation.

He nods, and I'm shocked that he doesn't have anything to say that rivals my statement.

* * *

**Long time, no see!**

**-DareToDreamBig**


	11. Chapter 11

_Valiant _

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

**Chapter 11**

* * *

_Tris _

_Day 2: With the Dauntless_

I hold my bow closer to my body as we continue our trek for any stray tributes. There's no way I'm going to act up now, since they could easily take away my weapon. Actually, come to think of it, I might actually have a fighting chance against them...

I'm interrupted by Four's demands.

"Tribute at nine o'clock. Molly, Peter, and Al, take the west. Lauren and Drew, take the east. Tris and I will take south."

All of this sounds confusing to me, yet I do understand I should follow Four. Except I don't have much time to prepare myself, when Four grabs my wrist to pull me behind him, silently sneaking up behind the tribute.

Molly is the first to speak once we're all gathered.

"Well, look what we have here." Her words are vicious and said with a sneering smirk, one I want to slap off of her face. I mentally scold myself for getting so fired up.

I take that all back when I get a glance at the tribute.

It's no one special, just some random male from another district. He's relatively plain, with brown hair, an average build, and I don't even remember him from training. What makes him stand out is his innocence. He's obviously no older than fourteen, the age the Capitol's playboy Uriah Pedrad won.

However, there's a noticeable difference between Uriah and this boy. Uriah was obviously trained, whether it be in a special center or on a boat. This boy hasn't been.

"I say we let the Stiff prove her worthiness." Peter says, giving me a taunting head incline.

"Since when have you been in charge, Peter?" Four asks uninterestedly, drawing his knife out in the correct stance. I gulp, and as he prepares to give the boy, who is frozen in shock with tears pricking at his eyes, I have to restrain myself from knocking it out of his hands. How can he be so impassive while murdering someone so innocent?

And as the boy screams when Four stabs a clean shot through his stomach, I have to look away.

"What, not used to bloodshed, Tris?" Peter grins a sinister smile, and I fight the urge to throw up.

"You okay? You're looking a little... _Stiff._"

"We're all astonished by your incredible wit, Peter." I say drily, but Four steps in.

"I'd like to get a move on it."

And, after the leader of the pack speaks, we move. I walk slowly, trying not to think about the boy's haunting face. Someone steps back to where I am, but I don't notice.

"You were looking a little green while I got rid of that tribute." I identify Four's voice, the low drawl causing hot shivers up my spine. Strangely, they aren't the same shivers I get when Peter or Eric talks. They're more chilling than intimidating.

Somehow, his words set me off on a raging bomb.

"Excuse me for getting a little sick at the sight of you killing that boy. It wasn't exactly pleasing to the eye, you know." I whisper yell.

He stops, and the others continue to walk. With arms crossed, he walks closer to me, and pushes my body against a tree. After doing this, Four places his hands on either side above my head.

"Listen, and listen well. I admire your open defiance against the alliance, but you are seriously going to get yourself in trouble, and not with me or any other tribute. As of now, I'm the person in charge, and I'll tell you if that changes. I doubt it, though." He's close enough to me that I smell his somehow minty breath, spearmint fanning over my senses.

"Just do what I say, and you'll be good. I'm not even saying you have to listen to any of the others. Just for now, listen to me, and I'll promise I'll protect you." He says, and almost sounds comforting.

"Not that you need much protecting, anyway." Four mutters.

That causes me to give him a curious glance, and he sighs.

"What am I going to do with you?"

* * *

To say I'm shocked when Lauren comes up to me at the campfire, stupidly set at night, is an understatement. It's like how surprised I was when someone asked me to be their partner for a school project, because usually no one would even sit near me.

Without a greeting, she plops herself next to me. I don't let myself stare at her in bewilderment too long, and simply rest my eyes on the fire, which closely resembles the faux one at the Parade.

"I don't like it either."

Her voice is hard to comprehend, probably from the lack of use. I give her the same confused glance I gave Four, and she rushes to explain.

"The killing is awful. No one deserves to go like that." She whispers, to disguise her voice from the cameras.

Then, as soon as she came, she gets up and walks away.

I decide I don't hate Lauren, but still have a bit of wariness about her. Anyone can pretend to care, even if they don't. Especially if they don't.

I again think about the brutality in the world I live in. I think about the unspoken lands, far away from Panem but relatively near my mind. I think about how different it could be, without placed labels and rankings of importance.

I dream about a place without the Games, a place where everyone can be free.

* * *

**Ending is cheesy, but the drama gets started in the next chapter. **

**Divergent is wonderful. Theo and Shailene (Sheo) are perfect. **

**-DareToDreamBig**


	12. Chapter 12

_Valiant_

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

**Chapter 12**

* * *

_Tris_

_Day 3: With the Dauntless (or nah)_

I wake up to smoke.

Gray puffs of the familiar smell waft past my nose, and intrude my senses. At first, it was slightly comforting, to remind me of home, but then I remember I'm in the Hunger Games, and smoke is never a good sign in the arena.

"GET UP!" I hear a voice yell, yet I can't distinguish the voice. Everything's just a blur, from then on.

All I can do is remind myself to breathe, to run, and to not wait for the others. Like they say, every man for themselves, which is a hard lesson for me to comprehend. Except I've always thought I wasn't as selfless as everyone in my faction, so I don't really have an issue with running and not looking back.

Someone screams, causing me to nearly trip over a root. I feel a strong hand grab my wrist, probably leaving a bruise.

_Faster, _I think, _run faster. _

Apparently, the person beside me thinks the same thing, because they speed up. We're now crashing through the branches, and I can now feel the flames, the source of the smoke, licking at my heels. I grit my teeth, but I know that if I try to speed up, I'll trip again. I'm sure the Capitol is laughing right now. The Girl on Fire, an inferno advancing on her, and she can't escape. That'd be the worst pun in history. I still don't know who's beside me, yet I can't bring myself to care.

My mind thinks water, except I can't really decide if water is a reachable goal because all I can understand is that I'm about to burn to death and the smoke is starting to fill my lungs. This, in my frazzled mind, starts a debate whether the fire or smoke inhalation is going to kill me.

My ankle catches on another root, or so I think, and I hear the person beside me shout. Or maybe they're whispering.

_Fire or smoke? _

And as I see the black spots block my vision, I understand now why I was always a bit afraid of fire.

* * *

_I sit at my school desk, quietly coloring with the blue crayon. It's old and dull, but our district doesn't get nice things. Also, the occasional coloring activity is a treat, since Abnegation considers art as an unnecessary, selfish want. _

_I don't even notice all of the older kids picking up their siblings until my mother rushes in, and grabs Caleb and me. _

"_Momma, what's going on?" I whisper, but she doesn't hear me. I repeat my question a little louder, only resulting in Caleb trying to quiet me. _

_We walk briskly through our school's slim corridors, gray and bleak. My mother's eyebrows are arched worriedly, and I attempt to mimic her. Usually, when I did such thing, she would shake her head softly and grin instead of scolding me like the usual Abnegation adult. Like my teacher always yelling at me for drawing on my desk._

_For some unknown reason, we arrive at the mines. I've only ever been at Dad's workplace when we have field trips to the mines each year. But something's different this time; I can tell. Momma never gets us out of school, and people are standing around, their faces all scrunched up like Momma's. I stand on my tiptoes, trying to get a good view of what's happening, but my eyes only reach most of their torsos. _

"_Beatrice, quit!" My brother whisper shouts and I shoot him a glare. I hate when he tries to act all better than me, even though he's only older by nine or ten months. _

"_Momma, what's going on?" I ask, loudly this time, after standing and waiting for whatever for a long time. _

_She takes a deep breath, tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks, and puts her shaky hands on our shoulders. _

"_Caleb, Beatrice, there has been a mine explosion. Your father was in it." _

_We look at her, our expressions frozen into confusion, and she rushes to elaborate. _

"_Your father isn't coming home." _

* * *

"_TRIS!" _

_What? _

"_TRIS!" _

My eyelids shoot open, and I see a pair of kind brown eyes peering down at me. Then, I realize it's Al.

"What are you doing?" I ask, narrowing my eyes and making my tone bitter. However, to my surprise, he doesn't flinch or back away.

"It's only us," he says, and I look around to finally recognize the absence of the rest of the Dauntless.

"If they're still alive, they're going to make us their new targets, for getting separated and being the weak links." I state, and Al nods, his face now morphing into one of worry. To be honest, I don't blame him. The Dauntless, as promised, are lethal as your enemies.

"Can we call a truce?" Al holds out one of his hands, and I reach out reluctantly to shake it.

"Alright. We need to find someplace hidden, preferably a cave. I would suggest a tree, but I presume you can't climb one?" I instruct, and he nods.

"Good, I'll gather the firewood."

After I say this, I gather my bow and arrows, which Al conveniently left right beside me, and look around.

Though it isn't too tedious of a job, gathering the free branches does require for your back to be turned. It's not a rare occasion to see a tribute getting killed while looking for firewood, due to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. So my paranoia results in me scoping the area out every five seconds.

I now realize that I don't have an advantage over everyone. Sure, most tributes probably can't climb a tree, but Four can. Except I find myself not being as scared of Four as everyone believes me to be. And if I want to be really honest, I'm not overly terrified of anyone in the arena.

It's the idea of death that petrifies me.

* * *

**Hola hola! Guess who updated on time and on a Monday? This is supposed to make up for the lack of updates in the past weeks. Thank you for the six reviews and let's see if we can up that to eight! **

**-DareToDreamBig**


	13. Chapter 13

_Valiant _

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**Chapter 13 **

* * *

_Tris _

_Day 3/Day 4: New Ally _

As night falls, I feel the cold air seeping right through my jacket. Despite Tori's reassurance of heat insulation, I find this jacket very unpromising.

I'm searching for any edible plants, and so far I've only found a few. The Capitol does like to keep an abundance of Nightlock lying around, however.

"Tris?"

I whirl around, holding my breath, but it's just Al. Exhaling, I give him an angry glance.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" I ask.

"I... I'm sorry..." He stutters. Al's never done well with anger, so I should probably consider being more gentle. Not that he was gentle with me as he attacked me on the Capitol roof.

"Have you found a cave or anything?" I ask, and he nods, leading me the way.

Once we arrive, I know I should check for any mutts or over tributes, but the tiredness is weighing my body down. Besides, Al probably surveyed the area to make sure there was no one or nothing already taking shelter here. Then again, Al doesn't seem to be the sharpest tool in the shed. I slightly miss being in the Dauntless alliance, yet I'm pretty sure they wouldn't take cover in a cave. As brave as they are, I think lying around in plain sight with someone, who could fall asleep anytime, guarding them and their supplies equates to idiocy.

"Do we have any sleeping bags?" I wonder. Regardless of my upbringing in District Twelve, I don't have a desire to sleep on the floor.

Al pulls out two black bundles, and I almost laugh at the convenience. Not only do we have one, but two. I suppose fate is on our side today. We survived a forest fire and snagged sleeping bags to prevent us from freezing overnight.

"I'll keep watch," he mumbles, and I mutter some kind of thanks. All I can think of is the warm cover I just pulled over my body.

* * *

A hand shakes me awake, presumably Al, ready for his turn to sleep. I guess we really don't need two sleeping bags if one of us is going to be keeping watch.

I stumble over to the cave's opening, bringing the sleeping bag with me. It's undeniably cold, and my thin stature has never been one to keep warmth in. I remember my prep team being dismayed by my lack of curves and for once, I find myself agreeing with them.

Then, I realize I have no clue about who's dead and who's alive. Four is alive, undoubtedly, and most likely Peter and Lauren. I couldn't possibly guess about Molly or Drew, since they seemed to be the slowest, both reacting and running. But there's no way I want to wake Al up, because I'd hate to be interrupted from what's most likely the best sleep I've had in the arena. At least I know I could take Al, even though he is tall and bulky. He seems to never move his feet while fighting, from my observations in the Training Center.

My thoughts somehow lead back to Four. I tell myself there's no way I could ever like someone like him, a true Dauntless in every shape and form. Except he has a few Abnegation traits, shown by his quiet demeanor, saving my life, and not killing me when he had plenty of chances. I respect him, and I owe him quite a few things. If there's one thing someone should know about me, it's that I hate owing people, and will feel indebted for my whole life.

Unfortunately, it's a burden to feel that way in the arena. Where allies turn on each other and the Capitol watches supportively, cheering on their favorites as they drag out the death of a twelve year old. And I now know that if I do make it out of the arena, I want to change that, but I know that would be the mistake that would lead to my downfall.

In the mist of my train of thoughts, I don't see the sun rise until I hear Al yawn, like a bear waking from a long winter of hibernation.

"So what do we do today?" Al asks, and I shrug.

"I'm probably going to hunt, since we're running extremely low on food," I reply, thinking that if I wait any longer, our food supply will have dwindled down to nothing. If there's one thing I'm not willing to die for in the Hunger Games, it's hunger itself, especially since I can easily kill a rabbit or squirrel.

"Want me to help?"

I shake my head. "No, I think I'll be good on my own. I wouldn't suggest collecting berries, because it is complicated to recognize if they're poisonous or not without seeing their leaves."

Al looks a little crestfallen, causing me to give in.

"Fine, you can help me carry my game." As predicted, he brightens at that. I wonder if he's trying to be all nice to make up for almost killing me before the Games even started. It appears as if he was merely pressured into it, and I do believe that he didn't have total evil intentions. But attacking someone because of your own jealousy is petty, and I don't forgive easily.

Al rummages through our bags to pull out a knife, and I notch my bow.

"Please make sure to keep your feet light on the ground. If you walk like you regularly do, you'll scare away every animal in site. So unless if you want to starve to death, avoid walking on branches and leaves." I lecture, like I did to Caleb when he wanted to try hunting. That turned out to be a failure, and I'm glad he and my mom are good at trading so they can access food.

"Okay," he agrees, and we begin.

* * *

**Ugh, I hate filler chapters. I don't know how you guys put up with me, reading all these boring chapters and what not. Excitement/action will be included in the next, but I can't promise Fourtris.**

**But please do be so kind enough to review; it would make my day. I promise this story won't be Tris/Al. **

**-DareToDreamBig**


	14. Chapter 14

_Valiant _

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**Chapter 14**

* * *

_Tris_

_Day 4: With Al_

"Is this edible?" Al asks, pointing to a bush of berries.

I sigh, because it's Nightlock. Again.

"No Al, I've told you it's very poisonous."

His head hangs a little, and I nudge him. He glances over at me, and I jeer my head in the direction of my newest prey.

"Just watch and learn," I say, and he nods.

I start to walk, as soft and slow as I can. I never tiptoe, since that seems to cause more trouble than good. Usually, I end up toppling over due to my clumsy habits.

Then, I raise my loaded bow and release the arrow. It cuts through the air and into a squirrel, carrying it off its tree. I wince, and can't help but feel sorry for the little squirrel. But hey, you have to do what you have to do. Some things are just worse than others.

I hear Al's footsteps behind me, and he picks up the squirrel, while making a disgusted face.

"Man up," I bop him on the side of his head and he grins.

"Some of us aren't as manly as you are, Tris."

I roll my eyes at that. Truth is, I've never been a big fan of bugs or dirt or anything like that. Actually, I always had a huge fear of yellow jackets and bees, until I learned to suck it up and deal with it once I was stung by one. I still don't care much for them, but I don't start screaming when a wasp flies by me.

Honest to goodness, I get a bit queasy around Tracker Jackers.

"Some us aren't as girly as you are, _Albert,_" I mock. If you can't beat them, join them.

He shakes his head at my use of his full name, but says nothing else.

* * *

We walk like this for a while, and things start to get a little too quiet.

I've always had a bit of a resistance towards silence. Despite my upbringings as a hunter, I notice bad things happen when it's too quiet. Call me childish or whatever, but silence is actually pretty terrifying.

And that's why I scream as a knife sails through the air, right into Al's shoulder.

He hunches over a bit, but stupidly pulls it out. He doesn't know how deep it could be embedded, and if it is too deep, he could get seriously injured from pulling it out, due to either blood loss or damaging an important vein.

I mentally thank myself for always loading my bow, and I raise it from the direction I assume the knife thrower awaits.

And I wait.

And wait.

And wait a little while longer.

For some reason, the enemy doesn't seem to want to finish what they started. Unless if that's their plan, to drive us out by using the attack and hide method. It reminds me of when I used to shoot my prey, with my bad aim, and hide until they moved.

I am now the prey, once again, and the mysterious tribute is the hunter. It's highly doubtful that they created a knife throwing mutation, but anything's possible in the Arena. There were some cannibal hummingbirds one time, and I recall staying away from trees for about a week after watching a fifteen year old getting her body ripped apart by those tiny, delicate birds I frequently saw in the forest.

"Tris?" Al asks, and I slowly turn my head at him.

"What?" I whisper, too frigid to make my voice much louder.

"Should we move?" He suggests, and I shrug, uncertainty lingering in my mind.

It's too strange of a situation for me to be comfortable. Most tributes don't just leave their victims alone after one knife, unless if it's the final blow signaling their death. But surely they must've noticed that no cannon went off.

However, I'm frazzled enough to not argue and Al and I start to inch out.

We don't stop until we reach the edge of our little clearing.

Almost as a reassurance, I look at Al and he gives me a slow nod, his face morphing into one of immense fear.

Then, we walk into the line of trees. Trees we had seen moments before as we trekked through, trying to find an area to settle down for a while. We couldn't stay in the cave forever, as the Gamemakers would drive us out.

Everything was as still as before.

Nothing was out of place, nothing but trees were in sight.

I began to laugh, a hysterical drawn out laugh until I heard the buzz. And the sound of a deadly crash.

And I came to face the only "insects", if you can call them such, that I'm still afraid of.

"Run," I yell, and force my legs to move. My bag and weapon falls out of my hand, but I focus on running. I have a sense of déjà vu, experiencing a very similar situation a few days before. A similar situation with different circumstances and more people.

I feel a sharp sting in my leg, and I instantly know they've caught up. Yet nothing stops me from running, not even Al's piercing shrieks. The sound of the buzzing near my ear is driving me to the point of insanity.

More Tracker Jackers attack me. I can feel their stingers sinking in, and I get the horrible vision of my body getting mutilated by multiples of them, my skin bubbling up and them crawling into my ear.

My vision is doubling, and even tripling. I can only see the trees around me.

_What is happening? _

_When will this stop? _

_Where's Al? _

And as I finally near a stream of water, my shoe catches on a rock and I fall.

I fall deep, deep down into a black hole, swallowing my body as if I were nothing.

* * *

**Uh, yeah. More dramatic scenes to come. **

**Sorry for my terrible depiction of Tris. I'm not even fishing for compliments, I'm just honestly apologizing. **

**-DareToDreamBig**


	15. Chapter 15

_Valiant_

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_... _

**Chapter 15 **

* * *

_Tris _

_Day: ?_

_I feel the fire burning my body. Flames lick over my legs with a simple hiss, leaving the skin scorched to no end. Yet somehow I feel no pain. _

_Nothing at all; not even the expected searing white-hot agony. _

_Am I dead? I ask myself this, but I hear no response. _

_Has death finally caught up to me? _

_Shouldn't I know? _

_I hear someone calling, and I struggle, shouting back, but no sound comes out. I can't move, I'm paralyzed, and if someone's trying to help, it isn't working. _

_I think that's what is making it so terrible. _

_The voice is getting clearer. I feel like this situation isn't alien, because something about it is familiar. Have this happened before? _

"_Come back to me."_

_..._

I shoot straight up, and someone strokes my hair, with a lingering uncertainty.

Instead of Al's usual dark brown eyes, I'm greeted with deep pools of bright blue. The color is so brilliant that I shrink back, almost blinded, and it takes me a couple of blinks to register the person.

_Four. _

I shriek, and stagger up then back, tripping over a bag.

He lunges forward, pressing me down to the ground all while placing a hand over my mouth.

"Are you stupid?" He hisses. "You'll get us killed!"

I start hitting on his chest, trying to get him to let me go. His arms are warm around my waist, but I don't bring myself to admire his defined muscles being so close. Instead I focus on the real problem before me, and wonder how it's going to end. Either in his favor or mine.

"Let go of me!" I demand, as if that'll help me.

"No. I saved you, countless times, and this is my thanks? I even had to ask a twelve year old how to heal your wounds."

"You didn't hurt her, did you?" I glare, and he rolls his eyes.

"Now, do I seriously look like someone who would do that?"

_Not really, but you can never know for sure. _

He must've seen my pondering expression and sighs, releasing me. I see that he had enough sense to drag me into a cave in case someone comes by. Water droplets drip with a big _plop _as they hit the ground, and there's an earthy, fresh smell. Like a forest after the first rainfall of spring.

I think the poison's affected my hearing, because I can barely hear the rain falling outside.

"Thanks, I guess," I say, shrugging. Truthfully I couldn't be more grateful. If he hadn't taken the stingers out and healed the stings, I would've eventually died. Thinking of all of my many injuries while being in the arena reminds me of that saying about cats having nine lives. I'm hoping I have a few more left.

Then, I realize something. I could survive, make it back home.

My heart pounds in my chest, but I remember that there are others, hungrily waiting for something as silly as the feeling of victory, of beating twenty three other people in a murder game. I suppose if that's how they want to be, then who am I to judge? But I have hope I can make it home, just to see my mother's and Caleb's face again.

I've learned hope is something of a false motivation. It takes people to desperate measures, thinking that they're on the right track, just to pull them back down from the clouds and into a sea full of sharks.

"Tris?" Four's voice snaps me back into reality, and I straighten up. I can't start thinking of him as an ally, but better yet an enemy.

I think I've been told something like, "Keep your friends closer, but your enemies closer."

Yeah, that sounds about right. Maybe that's what I'll do, treat Four like a friend. I've never been a fan of manipulation, but for now, I'm too homesick too care. There's no doubt in my mind that he has the same mindset. Eric told me to never trust a Dauntless, and I understood then why. But Four is well with words, effortlessly convincing. When have I been so easy to fool?

"Why do you keep saving me, Four?" I ask abruptly.

"What?"

"You keep on saving me, getting me out of all of these sticky situations. But I'm curious to know why. I mean, do I remind you of someone or what? Because I'd really like to know your logic behind this, if there is any," I say, and his face contorts into one of confusion.

"What if my reasoning isn't bad? You don't have to be so suspicious, you know. I could just be trying to help you."

"But why would you help me? That's what I'm asking. Because you're putting your own life in a lot of risk to save someone as puny as me for some strange, unknown reason." I'm trying to get him to bite the bait.

He throws his hands up in the air, like some sign of defeat.

"You want to know why? I like you, Tris, and I'm tired of you making idiotic decisions!"

_What?!_

"There's a huge difference but a small line between idiocy and bravery, one which you are crossing quite simply. And frankly, I don't care much for it. Maybe you're used to being some hero or whatever, but you really need to think things through!" He continues.

"What, is it my fault the forest caught on fire and I got attacked by Tracker Jackers?"

"It's your fault in how you handled it! Besides, when I brought you to the Dauntless pack, you didn't seem to care that they were all, spare one or two, itching to kill you. You act like you know everything, but you haven't even noticed that I like you _romantically!_" He yells, with the veins protruding through his arms as he balls his hands into a tight fist.

My head spins at his words.

_He likes me?_

_Like, legit? _

I feel like one of those giggling girls at my school, who batted their eyelashes at guys when the teachers weren't looking and tied their hair up with stolen ribbons once they got to school. Those were the girls who obviously didn't fit in Abnegation, and constantly got in trouble for putting so much stock into their appearances. Unexpectedly, they were treated as anomalies, and barely any of the guys flirted back.

Nonetheless, I didn't want to be like them so I snapped my mouth shut and just stared at him in shock.

"Wh-"

"Do I always have to have a reason?" He asks angrily, crossing his arms over his chest and pressing his lips together.

"Um, I don't know? I'm just asking." I mutter, and turn my face to where he can't see the pink tinting my cheeks.

_Maybe the game I started to play wasn't so fun after all. _

* * *

**Ay, whatcha think? **

**I'm trying to make myself write longer chapters, but it doesn't seem to be working well. **

**My apologies. **

**-DareToDreamBig**


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